


Back to the Four Winds Bar

by Cartoon_Idiot_59



Series: GravRickity Falls [6]
Category: Blue Oyster Cult, Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty, The Elric Saga - Michael Moorcock
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drinking, Gen, Inspired by Music, Musicians, Non-fictional Characters, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartoon_Idiot_59/pseuds/Cartoon_Idiot_59
Summary: After Blood Ridge our four heroes, Rick especially, need a drink. Where else but where it started, the Four Winds Bar?





	Back to the Four Winds Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Our heroes need some decompression time. The boys write a new song. Moorcock gets the blame

Dimension ME-262. Parched land, no desert sand, sun was just a dot, And a little bit of water goes a long way, 'cause it's hot. A green and white portal opens in the shimmering air. Four figures in smoking, battered battle armor, suits of weaponized flying armor, missing pieces, full of holes. The distorted and extremely slowed sound of music, "Feels Good" by Tony! Toni! Toné! is heard playing from three of the suits. The fourth, the most damaged armor, plays no music. Its wearer stretches his wings and cracks his knuckles.

"What IS that music, Rick?" He asked in a slow monotone. 

"New song. I thought something uptempo would be inspiring, going into battle. Don't you like it, Pers?" The tallest member of the group responded, spikes of blue hair starting to stick up through holes in his helmet. 

"Too poppy. You know I prefer Metal or Punk" BirdPerson replied, still in his slow monotone, a chunk of smoking metal falling off of his back. 

"Well, EXCUUUUUSE ME, Robert Christgau! Sorry my m-musical selections aren't up to your impeccable fucking taste! Try to do something nice..."

"Selections? The same song over and over. I deliberately let a Gromflomite particle beam take out my speaker." BirdPerson said. 

The shortest member of the team spoke up, pointed cat-like ears poking through his helmet. "I liked it! It was squanchy! I'm cool." 

The fourth member of the party simply rolled his eyes. He was familiar with the bickering and tried to ignore it. Stanford Pines, one of three entities in the multiverse to invent trans-dimensional portal technology (granted, thousands of Ricks and hundreds of Stanfords also did, but they were ALL Rick Sánchez or Stanford Pines) decided to weigh in. "An off switch might've been an option, Richard." He said. 

"You're a buzzkill, Fordsy! I've always said so." Answered Rick Sánchez. 

They crossed a ridge and below them saw three good buddies were laughing and smoking in the back of a rented Ford. The driver looked grim. A La Paz County sheriff's office car appeared, lights flashing. The Ford pulled over and the four young adults, teenagers maybe, were arrested for possession. They paid particular attention to the driver's blatantly illegal Bowie knife. 

"So how did that happen?" Asked Squanchy. "I thought they hadn't seen a cop around all day (what luck)."

"I called them." Said Rick. "What?! The fucking idiots were going to killed for their stash and cash otherwise! Serve 'em right, probably. Shitheads! They brought everything they needed, bags and scales to weigh the stuff, each one with the m-money in his pocket, could go out and buy himself a brand new car. But they all held the money they had. M-money they hoped would take them very far. Who the fuck DOES that? Brings the scales and shit and the fucking profits with you to the buy?! Fucking amateurs!"

"Why do we start here every time we go to the Four Winds, Rick?" Asked BirdPerson.

"Bouchards' fault, probably. There's a line about 'silver scrapes in May' in "Astronomy". Maybe P-pearlman wanted 'Last Days of May' to be part of the Imaginos mythos. Fuck if I know!" Rick responded. 

They followed the ridge until it reached a beach. If you're wondering how a short walk from La Paz County, Arizona ended up on a southward facing beach, maybe southern California, maybe Long island New York, don't. The topography of dimension ME-262 is complex, to say the least. 

Now the sands become a crust beneath their feet, a drag, a difficulty. "Can we just fly the rest of the way, Rick?" Asked Squanchy. 

"Sure," responded Rick. "Anybody's repulsars still working?" 

"My wings still work." Answered BirdPerson, darkly.

Sandpipers flew away at their approach. Like lesser birds on the four winds, like silver scrapes in May. Seagulls stood their ground. Ahead a building could be seen. The building loomed up out of nowhere, a large brick cube. There were bars on all the windows. There was a door in each of the four walls, but two on opposite sides of the building were chained and bolted. There was a sign above each door reading the Four Winds Bar. Four winds at the Four Winds Bar, two doors locked and windows barred. The door facing the ocean opened and two women came out. One was young and slight, dressed in black with black hair. The other was older, dressed in white and had her arm around her younger companion.

"Come, Suzy dear, let's take a walk, just out there upon the beach. I know you'll soon be married and you want to know where the winds come from." The older woman was saying.

"I'm getting a strong sense of déjà vu here." Said Ford. 

"Of course you are, Fordsy! Time's kinda recycled here. Think of Suzy dear and M-miss Carrie, nurse and Dez as NPC's in a video game. Or that D,D and More D crap you're so into!" Rick explained.

“That’s a whole lot of D... That’s what she said!” laughed Squanchy.

BirdPerson glared at him. "Squanchy. Don't be gross."

"Right, it's always midnight at the Four Winds Bar." Said Ford, glancing at the dot of a sun.

"Talk to the ladies, Ford. That'll set you right." Rick said. 

"Excuse me, Suzy dear? I believe that the winds come from the bar you two just left." As soon as he spoke the sky changed. He looked at the night sky. Blackness. Sheer empyrean blackness. A star shone. One star. There were no lights on the bar, there were no lights anywhere. Can't blame light pollution. A single star. Astronomy. A star. He'd seen some strange things, he'd survived the nightmare realm, he'd been nearly killed several times today, countless others in the Great Federation war, Schmorgulon prime had been particularly close (nothing like today! Never anything like today! His six-fingered hands shook at the thought.) but this disturbed him.

"Excuse me, sir. Do I know you?" Suzy asked.

"No, no, we've never been formally introduced, but I've seen you around." Replied Ford, still taken by the empty sky. The star is Sirius, fixed and consequent, I know that now, he thought. The four of them entered the bar. They stepped through the door, bathed in deep cerulean light, an oceanic blue. The queenly flux, eternal light or the light that never warms. One door let to take you in, the other one just mirrors it. In hellish glare and inference, the other one's a duplicate. On a throne a massive, heroically proportioned person sat, wearing a Greek chalmys and a wreath of laural. Well, 'person' may be the wrong word, he was easily twelve feet tall. At his feet was a sack, bound with leather at the top. The sack moved. A dwarf dressed in harlequin capered about, serving drinks. Six chitinous insectoid creatures sat at a table, three with wings and mandibles, three without. All had compound eyes and antennae. A band was playing, three guitars, bass and drums. A bank of keyboards stood stage right. They were singing something about a Messerschmitt 262. All around the bar tiny white flowers grew and bloomed. Moondrops. The clock struck twelve, the moondrops burst out at you from their hiding place.

"Dez! DEZ, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Rick roared. "I want a Long Island iced tea, a Pan-Galactic Gargle blaster, a slippery nipple and a fifth of vodka! I have no idea what these m-motherfuckers want!"

BirdPerson gave out a stream of tweets and warbles, Squanchy hissed and spat, Ford said quietly "A Marker's Make, please. Neat." The dwarf led them to a table stage left next to a large table occupied by a single person, human, with a beard, longish hair and glasses. His table was cluttered with several glasses and bottles. On the other side of their table was the throne of Aeolis. The bag of Wind squirmed. Desdenova, the dwarf returned with seven drinks and a bottle of vodka. Ford was looking at the band. He recognized three of them, but they seemed... younger than they did the last time he saw them, a few years ago. 

The band finished their song and took their places at the adjacent table, joining the man who was sitting there. The shortest member of the band, all in white, with long black hair and a' 70s porn mustache beamed at them. "Guys! Been a long time, where you been? You dudes look tired, man! What's with the getups? Dudes, are you shaking?" 

"Long story, Buck. I don't wanna talk about it." Sighed Rick. 

"C'mon Rick, it's us!" Answered a curly haired fellow with a beard and dark glasses in a black jumpsuit. He had a laser strapped to his left wrist. (Nothing military, you understand. But powerful enough that it caused problems with customs agents and safety inspectors on four continents). "We're musicians, man! We get it! Life on the road, habits gettin' on top of you, extradimensional shenanigans, extraterrestrial intelligences! We BEEN there, man! Why can't you just talk to us? We been through some shit together!" Eric Bloom finished. 

"Fuck it! You see us now, the veterans of a thousand galactic wars! I've been living on the edge so long, where the winds of limbo roar! And I'm young enough to look at, and far too old to see! All the scars are on the inside! I'm not sure that there's anything left to me!" He took a long drink of his Long Island iced tea and finished it. 

"Shit." muttered Allen Lanier, a skinny, stringy haired man with a gentle soul and pianist's fingers. "Sounds rough." 

"You ask me why I'm weary, why I can't speak to you. You blame me for my silence say It's time I changed and grew. But the war's still going on, guys, and there's no end that I know! And I can't say if we're ever...I can't say if were ever gonna be free."

The man in the beard and glasses was writing furiously, eyes alight. Eric had a look like a shark that smelled blood in the water. Al Bouchard started drumming on the table ba da boom ba da boom badabada boomdeboom. Buck Dharma's left hand was making chords in the air. 

Squanchy lifted his shaking paws "At least we won! But, fuck! Look at us! Don't let these shakes go on! It's time we had a break from it! It's time we had some leave! We've been living in the flames, we've been eating out our brains! Oh please, don't let these shakes go on!" 

BirdPerson spoke. "You see me now a veteran of a thousand dimensions wars. My energy is spent at last, and my armor is destroyed. I have used up all my weapons and I'm helpless and bereaved. Wounds are all I'm made of! Did I hear you say that this is victory?"

General Stanford Pines gazed at his shaking six-fingered hands. "Don't let these shakes go on! It's time we had a break from it! Send me to the rear, where the tides of madness swell, and been sliding into hell. Oh please don't let these shakes go on! Don't let these shakes go on!"

"So that's where WE'VE been! Shit, what year is it for you, (erp)outside?" Rick said. 

" '79." Replied Joe Bouchard. "You guys?" 

" '91, I think. Hard to tell, we've been b-busy. Spoilers?" Rick said.

"Hell, no! Unless you have the winners of some super bowls or world series!" Al replied, still drumming. Ba da boom ba da boom badabada boomdeboom, ba da boom ba da boom badabada boomdeboom. All around the bar tiny white flowers grew and bloomed. Moondrops. The clock struck twelve, the moondrops burst out at you from their hiding place.

"You know none of us give a shit about sports!" Rick replied. He REALLY didn't want to explain to Joe that he'd kind of taken his place a little on the damn Imaginos Project. The Bouchards were already bummed enough knowing they'd be leaving the band in a few years. THIS is why I don't fuck with time travel! Well, that and the whole religion thing. 

Eric was energized. "You get all that, Mike?" He asked the man writing.

"Every word! I changed it a little, doubled up a couple of times, you know, made a song of it. Poetry at least. It was nearly perfect, though." Michael Moorcock replied in a soft English accent.

"Oh, yeah! Guys, this is Michael Moorcock, the writer! He writes fantasy and science fiction, used to edit a magazine or two! We ran into him in New York, accidentally let out that we MIGHT know our way around the multiverse a little, building pocket dimension sort of thing. He insisted we show him! So, here we are! He's been writing a song for us, based on his novels and I think we just got another one!" Eric explained. "Don?" 

"Al's got it, already! I've been wanting to do something with delay, kind of like Fripp, this'll be perfect! You know where we're going, Eric?" 

"Yeah, F sharp minor, E, D, round again, B, F sharp minor, twice, D, A, F sharp minor, C sharp, round and round it goes and it comes out here! B, A, B, A, F sharp minor, E, coda. That's all she wrote!"

"Synth?" Asked Allen. 

"Fuck, yes, synth! Lots of synths! Ethereal synths! I want the synths to hum like incantations. Guys, you up to playing a short set? We'll go in the back and hammer this out! You guys don't mind if we give the credit to Mike, right? I can't see it being in ANYONE'S interest to have it known that this is based on a true story, right? " 

"You know those Canuck loonies? The ones making the cartoon? This'll be PERFECT!" Added Joe. 

"Heavy Metal? Shit, you're right!" Eric boomed. The boys went to the back room, taking the pages Mike had written down.

Michael Moorcock stared at Rick. "Excuse me, was your name Rick? Any chance that's short for Elric? You even look like an albino! Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable!" 

"Right, you bl-bloody Brit bastard! It's short for Ricardo, dickweed! I don't read much sci-fi anymore, I LIVE it! Shit, Elric of Melbourne or whatever? That was (braap) YOU? The black blade, soulsucking motherfucker, the eternal champion? Not me! Well... Mostly not! I got work to do! Boys?" Rick, BirdPerson and Squanchy took the stage. 

The Flesh Curtains played "I Wanna be Sedated", "White Light, White Heat", one of their originals and jammed ". Reoccurring Dreams" until the boys came back. Granted the last two were technically anachronisms from BOC's standpoint, but the small crowd at the Four Winds Bar didn't care about anachronisms. And most of you have gone away (hm, yeah gone away). The Four Winds Bar was always the small crowd left after most of you have already gone away. That's just the way it's built. It's always midnight at the Four Winds Bar. All around the bar tiny white flowers grew and bloomed. Moondrops. The clock struck twelve, the moondrops burst out at you from their hiding place.

Blue Öyster Cult came back out, they played the song with The Flesh Curtains sitting in (gotta keep the place goin'! someone said. Really, it could've been anyone. The clock struck twelve, the moondrops burst....) they replayed ME-262 with SIX guitars. Then the boys played the new song, just written, "Veteran of the Psychic Wars". Of course, Rick, BirdPerson, Squanchy and Ford had already heard it, it was old news in 1991, but it was nice to know it was about them. Ford had had a nice discussion with Mr. Moorcock about SF & fantasy, they agreed to disagree on Tolkien and Howard. Our heroes agreed, maybe six more months of mopping up, and everyone could go home. 

After six more months, they did just that. Rick gave Ford a portal gun, they went back and supernovaed Glapflap's third moon, Ford kept about five Quantum destabilizers, the rest went up with Blood Ridge. Ford went back to the Oracle, Jheselbraum the Unswerving, got a metal plate installed in his head and Jheselbraum thanked him for his aid with the Great Galactic Federation Wars. She told him all she knew about Bill Cipher and told him the history of Mewni. She had concerns. She agreed with Glossaryk and Baby that Mewmian hegemony was a great injustice. Unlike them, she wasn't under the control of the Butterfly family and could take action. Well, encourage action. The significant magical sinuosity wasn't her concern. Of course neither was the central finite curve, but that hadn't stopped her. The entire Multiverse was her concern! She was blissfully unaware that at almost this same time, an army of monsters led by Septarsis were making a VERY good attempt to end the conflict by destroying all Mewmans. She was also unaware that a crisis threatening the entire Multiverse was slowly brewing on Mewni. Omnitraxis should've seen it, that was his job, but in some ways he was as stupid as his brother Rhombulus. Glossaryk didn't look past what he saw as a happy ending and could never see the entire Multiverse. 

Unfortunately, while she KNEW where Ford was from, she had no way to transmit that knowledge in any way that the alpha-numeric system of a Sánchez Portal gun Mark IV could make any sense of. Or for that matter an alpha-numeric designation for the former second dimension, the current Nightmare Realm. Ford was on his own. That story is told in another place, though. Many other places.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, boy! Thanks have to go out to the Bouchard brothers, Sandy Pearlman, Donald 'Buck Dharma' Roeser, Eric Bloom and Michael Moorcock! The music and lyrics, especially lyrics of Astronomy, Then There Came the Last Days of May and Veteran of the Psychic Wars are an essential part of this story. In fact they are most of this story! Gentlemen, this is a love letter! These songs are so important to me and many other people! I mean no disrespect, I apologise for ANY mischaracterization of you gentlemen herein. Still, I've seen much worse here on AO3. Just filling in holes in my strange story cycle and having a hell of a lot of fun! ALL rights to the beautiful words I've stolen from these gentlemen revert, of course to them. I make no profit from this nonsense and maybe, just maybe, someone who has never heard these gems will read this and give them a listen. A man can but hope!
> 
> Oh, special thanks to XFilesinAMajor for the 'that's what she said' joke.


End file.
